Little Green Men
by Big Edna
Summary: Adventure finds Trent and Carlos as they take on a string of new cases.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: Did I mention I own nothing? I don't. Just playing. If you love them, the newest season of Walker (season 4) is out and has the SoT movie on it! _

Trent Malloy was having the time of his life.

He sped down the streets of the Dallas suburban on his motorcycle, welcoming the unusually warm January morning. He was headed for the popular bar Uppercuts. Actually, at 7:30am he wasn't exactly going to the bar, but to the office of Thunder Investigations located above the bar. His private investigation business was rapidly becoming respected and renowned for its reliability, and currently the business was booming. To top off his flourishing job, he had recently been reunited with Margo Jones, who was quite possibly the greatest woman he'd ever met. He couldn't remember a time in his life when he had been happier.

Trent took the stairs up to the Thunder offices two at a time and opened the door, whistling merrily. "Good morning, Kim," he said to the perky red-head at the main desk. She flashed a sparkling smile.

"Good morning, Trent," she replied with equal enthusiasm. She gathered papers and followed the blonde into his private office. "We have your mail, your voice messages, and assorted letters of praise," she said as he hung his leather jacket on a peg behind the door. She laid these papers and a few manila folders on his desk. "You also need to sign off on these cases, and here's some coffee," she sat down a steaming flowery mug in front of him. "Excuse the mug. Yours was quite dirty—possibly even a health hazard—so it's soaking in my sink before I wash it."

Trent sat down at his desk and leafed through the pile as he took a sip of the coffee. A moment later, he realized Kim was still in the doorway, hands clasped in front of her nervously.

"Is it good coffee?" she asked in an over-sweet voice. Now Trent knew there was something wrong.

"What do you want, Kim?" he sighed as he set the mug down and folded his hands.

"A woman called here after hours last night," Kim walked forward, heels clicking on the floor tiles, to pull out a piece of paper from the stack she'd given him just moments before.

Trent read it and re-read it carefully. "No, Kim," he said as he handed her the small orange note.

"But Trent," she pleaded, "You should have heard this poor girl's voice. She's for real."

Trent sighed and ran a hand through his short blonde hair. "I hate these kind of cases, and you know that," his voice was an almost whine. "And now we can finally afford to be selective on whose cases we take!" How was it that Kim could talk him into anything? And she wasn't even pleading like she normally did. Maybe he was going soft…

"I'll help you," she rushed to say as she handed the note back to him. "You'll need someone good with computers anyway."

Trent looked down at the paper in his hand. "'Looking for internet soul mate,'" he read aloud and scoffed. "Why?" he raised his eyes to the ceiling. The white plaster held no answers for him, and he sighed. "Fine. I'll take it." Kim actually squealed in delight.

* * *

Carlos Sandoval was pissed. 

The handsome Hispanic mulled over his misfortune as he idled in what had to be the biggest traffic jam in all of Dallas—ever! Where Trent was always 10 minutes early, Carlos was always 15 minutes late. Carlos yawned. He wasn't sleeping nearly enough, and hadn't been since his re-encounter with the Ramirez gang last month. A few months before he retired as a police officer, he had done an undercover assignment to bring down the notorious gang. Bringing them down meant becoming close to the gang, especially the boss and his family, but an undercover cop could never lose sight of his goal. He had been forced to arrest some good friends, and that weighed heavily on his mind. His guilt only worsened after Raoul, Ramirez' younger brother, had called him a traitor at gunpoint during his re-encounter. That made him question his loyalties, his morals.

To make matters worse, his beautiful, smart, doctor girlfriend dumped him. She dumped him. Carlos was never the dumpee! He was the dumper!

Carlos sighed. She may have been smart and had an amazing body, but she was kind of a bore, he supposed. He sure hoped Trent had found some interesting cases to take his mind off of things.

He should have known better than that. When Carlos finally arrived to work, Trent was beginning the Internet Love case, leaving Carlos to make contact with the Haunted House woman. When they first started working together, Trent named all cases for the people paying, but Carlos and Kim had soon adopted an improved nomenclature. The Smith case—where one ex had stolen the others's purebred show poodle—became the Ex in the Doghouse case, and the Thompson case—where a senator's wife became the leader of a violent political movement—became Watergate II. Not exactly original, but it made work more fun.

The Haunted House woman, as it turned out, was a widow who had called about a week ago, claiming that the spirit of her recently deceased husband would not leave her alone. Almost immediately after he hung up with Gwendy, the nice grandmotherly woman paying Thunder Investigatons to look into things, Carlos' cell phone rang.

"Carlos. Margo." Margo always answered the phone like that: identifying the person she called and then herself. As if there weren't a little thing called "caller ID."

"Hey, what's up?" he asked, scribbling down a few last notes. There was a pause. "Margo?"

"I'm going back undercover, Carlos," she said finally.

Carlos sat back in his chair. "Wow. I thought they had you on a desk job forever?"

"Me, too, but the shrink cleared me for field work, and I guess I'm the best agent for the job."

"Have you told Trent?" Carlos asked.

"No. You know he won't like it," she said. "Things have been going so well, and I don't know how to tell him."

Carlos chuckled a little. "He's a big boy, Margo. And you can kick his butt if he gets out of line. Are you sure the reason you don't want to tell him doesn't have more to do with your own anxiety about it? You did almost die last time…"

Now Margo laughed. "Who died and made you my therapist?" There was a pause as she thought it over, and she sighed. "I think you get smarter the longer you're single. You're right, of course. Damn you, Carlos!"

Carlos heard the front door open. "Hey, I gotta call you back. This will all work out, ok?"

"Ok," she said.


	2. Chapter 2

"Got it!" Kim yelled from her computer in the main room. She gathered some papers from the printer and dashed into Trent's office.

"Got what?" Trent wanted to know.

"I found the dates, times, and places JC9758 was when he made these emails and chats," Kim handed her data to him.

"That's all we have? A screen name?" Trent posed the question as he looked over the lengthy list. "Set up an appointment with…with…"

"Sherry Kinney," Kim finished his sentence, supplying the name of the client. The only downside to the improved nomenclature was that they tended to forget the clients' real names. "I'll have her come in as soon as possible?" she inquired.

"Sherry Kinney the millionaire?" he asked. Kim nodded. Trent was suddenly beginning to see why they were taking this case. He should have known Kim wasn't a hopeless romantic about anything besides a good profit margin. "Yes please," Trent was already looking over the list, checking for patterns. Wherever "JC9758" was writing from, it wasn't a home computer, for several different addresses were listed. Grabbing some highlighters, he began to mark the patterns he saw. "Is there any way you can trace these…" he indicated the long series of numbers that served as places JC9758 emailed from. They heard the front door open, and a few seconds later, Carlos yelling that he'd be right out.

"They're called IP addresses, and yes, I can," she said. "It'll take me a little bit longer."

"We're going to need them, I think," he said.

"I'm all over it!"

* * *

Carlos put on his friendly, you-can-trust-me-with-your-secrets smile and went out to meet whoever was at the door. As he walked out into the parlor, his silly grin melted off his face, replaced by a look of shock.

The girl with vivid red locks ducked her head self-consciously under Carlos' stare. "Carlos Martinez," she smiled shyly. "You never called."

"Nicole," Carlos leaned in the door jamb. "Wow. I can't believe it's really you! No, I didn't call, but I had a good excuse." He couldn't quite manage to keep his smile on as the memories came back to him.

"Yeah, I heard about Johnny," her eyes were distant; he couldn't read them. "Who knew?" She sighed. "I read about it in the paper: how Johnny Prima was some drug lord and how he almost killed you. But your name was different?"

"Sandoval," he told her. "I was undercover for the PD to bust the El Vaquero drug ring."

Nicole scoffed. "I must have sounded so stupid coming onto you at that club."

Carlos raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. "I should have called. I would have called, but if we had gotten too close, you could have found out and blown my cover, so I didn't. And then my cover got blown anyway, and it was all pointless after that. I would have liked to have been able to call you," he smiled slightly at his inane rambling. Even after all this time, Nicole was still one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. Her red hair—shoulder length when they had first met—was now layered and fell softly down her back, framing her perfect face and piercing brown eyes.

She blushed again and looked at her hands, leaving them in an awkward pause.

"So are you here on business?" he asked her finally.

"Yeah," she nodded, and Carlos ushered her into his office, closing the door behind him and offering her a chair. Nicole laughed nervously. "I didn't realize you actually worked here. You're not with the police anymore?"

"I went through kind of a rough patch and quit the force. Er, retired from the force. But enough about that. What can I do for you?" Carlos folded his hands and leaned forward.

"I think someone is following me," she returned. Carlos could tell she still felt self-conscious

"Why?"

"Believe it or not, Carlos, I'm worth quite a bit nowadays," she teased. More seriously, she went on. "I'm secretary to one of the biggest corporate lawyers in the country, and I know all his secrets. A case went bad a few weeks ago, and there was a threat, and I just don't feel safe anymore. I mean, there's always threats, but this one felt different." She would have gone on if Carlos hadn't interjected with some comments.

"There was a threat to your life, specifically?" Nicole nodded. "Do you have any hard evidence?"

"If I had that, I'd just go to the police," she answered with a pout. "I just feel like I see the same guy everywhere I go, and I could swear the same car follows me to and from work and shopping. I can't tell whether I'm paranoid or not." Her eyes began to tear up. "All I have is a hunch, which is why I came here for help. I don't know where else to go!"

"Calm down," Carlos told her gently. "We'll get to the bottom of this." He asked her a few more questions before deciding to take her case. He would survey Nicole for a week and gather evidence. "No charge," he added impishly, "For all those times I didn't call."

* * *

Trent was startled out of his hard work when his cell phone rang. He sprang from his chair and dug through the pockets of his jacket to find it. He flipped it open and jammed it to his head. "Malloy."

"Trent. Margo," a female voice answered.

Trent grinned. "Hey beautiful."

"You ready for some lunch, studmuffin?" Margo asked.

"Absolutely, darlin'," he replied. "I'll meet you uptown in ten minutes." She agreed to a restaurant, and they hung up. "Kim," he called as he put on his jacket, "I'm going to lunch. Be back in an hour," he added as he paused by the door. His exit was delayed by the entrance of Danae Launey.

"So I hear that you fellows have a case you can't crack?" she teased.

"There's never been a case we couldn't handle!" Kim replied defensively. "Good to see you back!"

"Carlos is with a client," Trent told her.

"He didn't tell you?" she looked surprised as she sat down a loaded bag of supplies she carried with her at all times. Her job as a medical examiner required her to be prepared to gather whatever forensic evidence she could find at a crime scene—even on her lunch break.

"Tell me what?" he the blonde man asked.

"Meet the newest member of Thunder Investigations," she said with mock bravado, taking a bow. "He said you guys were getting nowhere fast on a case about a haunted house and asked if I would help out."

Trent laughed. "He's not getting anywhere on the case, at least!"

"We're not paying you for this," Kim Sutter warned.

"I'm volunteering," Danae said good-naturedly.

"Here's the case file so far," Kim passed her a thin manila folder that had scant information between the covers. Trent studied Danae carefully as she read it. He had known Carlos forever, and aside from Margo, Carlos never really had female friends until he met Danae a few weeks ago. She had been with him when Raoul Ramirez had returned for vengeance, and Trent knew the two of them bonded somehow during the ordeal. Carlos had been uncommonly tight-lipped about any feelings he had for her, though, and for the most part, they seemed to be nothing more than friends. Occasionally, though, Trent would see a prolonged touch or a straying look between them.

"I didn't know you had country in the heart of Dallas," she said dryly, handing the file back to Kim.

"It's a few miles outside of the city limits, actually," he admitted.

"She hears, 'inhuman wailing and clanking,' at night," Danae said skeptically.

"She's old," Trent shrugged, "and very superstitious, but she's paying us to find out what's going on."

"Science versus superstition. Alright, I'm in," she said with a shrug. "When do we start?"

"Carlos and I were planning on going out tomorrow," Trent told her.

"You should make her come practice with us," Carlos said as he walked into Trent's office with a grand smile on his tan face. "Hey," he said to Danae.

"Hey," she said back, her own contagious smile growing. "What practice?" She turned back to Trent.

"I make this big lug train with me every Saturday," Trent joked.

"In a futile attempt to teach me how NOT to get my ass kicked," Carlos added humorously. "You should come."

"He's a slow learner," Trent said. "You should come."

"Well…sure, I guess," she answered. "Do I need to bring anything special?"

"Nah," Trent brushed aside her comment, "Just wear clothes you can move in; I've got lunch covered."


	3. Chapter 3

Trent was finding it hard to focus on his case after what Margo had told him at lunch. So she was going back undercover. It sounded like a pretty low-risk assignment: someone was blackmailing people in a gated community. She and another agent were going to pretend to be a married couple and see if they could narrow down the list of suspects. The rich always had secrets to protect. Margo said that she was cleared for this kind of assignment, but Trent just didn't think she was ready. And he loved her so much he didn't think he would be able to stand it if she had to put her life on the line again. And now they were fighting about him not trusting her and her being reckless, when all Trent really wanted to do was tell her how much she meant to him.

Finally, he forced himself to work on this case. Kim owed him for this, he decided. The problem with the internet was that a person could completely reinvent themselves. There was no description, no name, not even a fake identity to trace through records! The only concrete clue Trent had were the IP addresses Kim had found, which corresponded to some cyber cafés around town, a large corporation, and a laptop computer. Whoever JC9758 was, he did not want to be traced. At least this presented a challenge, and Trent was a sucker for challenges.

He parked his motorcycle outside his first location, an internet and coffee café, and sized up the building. They must be like books, he reasoned taking in the battered façade, You can't judge them by their covers. Indeed, the building was crammed in the middle of a string of aspiring businesses, most of them owned privately. Within a year, an ambitious entrepreneur would set up shop, struggle to stay open, and then fail under the stiff competition of large corporations. These cyber cafés, however, were taking root quietly. Anyone could come in, get a cup of coffee, and sit down at their own private computer terminal. There were, of course, expenses for using the internet, but patrons seemed to not mind. It was the great irony: people flocked to these places to connect to the world, but they rarely sat down and talked with other customers.

Trent strode to the front desk, figuring it to be the best way to get information. "How do I sign up?" he inquired of the young man.

The kid—barely out of his teens—was absorbed in his monitor and never tore his eyes from it. "Mac or PC?" he asked.

"PC," Trent answered. To his complete amazement, the kid handed him a form and a pen without looking to see where they were.

"We need your basic information and a deposit before you can get on the computer. Please read the rules and regulations for using our facilities. A signature and payment, and you're ready to go," he said before frantically clicking his mouse.

"Do you keep all these on record?" Trent asked hopefully.

"Yessir," he answered, "but they're strictly confidential."

"Why?" Trent was puzzled. Most businesses would readily give a list of their clients to the police, lawyers, and sometimes private investigators.

Light reflected off the young man's glasses, and he pushed away from the computer with a sigh, looking at Trent for the first time. The kid must have lost the game he was playing. "Some of our customers come with the express purpose of being anonymous." The boy cast a quick glance around to be sure no one was within earshot and leaned in to Trent. "Cyber affairs are becoming more and more common when marriages hit a dry spot," he said in a low voice. He leaned back again. "Of course, real affairs are more easily conducted this way, too. The significant other can't find the emails. I suspect other…" he paused and raised his eyebrows, "shall we say shady transactions are made online."

"And you know all this how?" Trent asked.

"I'm a sociology major," the kid said proudly. "Observing the human element is what I do."

Trent agreed uneasily. He tapped the papers in his hand on the counter. "Well thank you. I'll get back to you when I have more questions." He visited two of the other cafés on his list before calling it a day, leaving the last for tomorrow morning. His second stop gave him hope, as the young lady in charge tentatively agreed to let him see a list of names. It was a start, at least. Checking his watch, he realized that he would be a few minutes late to Uppercuts, where he had plans to meet up with his friends for dinner. He hopped on his bike and zipped off into the setting Dallas sun.

Once a week or so, Trent and Carlos would meet up with Cordell Walker and Jimmy Trivette of the Texas Rangers. Walker and Trivette had been friends of theirs for a long time. Mentor was a better word, since Walker's guidance had more or less shaped Trent's life for the better. In addition, the two Rangers brought their significant others and fellow Rangers Sidney Cooke and Francis Gage. The whole group—plus Margo and minus Carlos—was there waiting when Trent finally made it. Trent gave Margo a quick kiss hello as he sat down, and ordered. They were midway through the meal before Trivette asked about Carlos.

Trent checked his phone and laughed. "He called me on my way over here. Just a sec." Trent dialed his voice-mail, listened to Carlos' message, and frowned. "He's not coming," he said.

"Well, did he say why not?" Trivette asked. "I'm dying without him!" The rest of the group laughed, as it was customary to pick on Trivette when Carlos wasn't around to provide the comedic relief.

"Something about a case," Trent said.

"Carlos has another girl," Margo announced. "I win the bet! I knew he couldn't stay single for long!"

Trivette stayed her hand. "Let's just wait and see," he said sorely. "Well, what case?"

Trent frowned. "I have no idea," he said. "He was going to start his case tomorrow with Danae."

"TEN bucks says they hook up," Trivette challenged Margo. He wanted his money back.

* * *

"I can't believe you talked me into exercising on a Saturday morning," Danae grumbled to Trent as she walked into Thunder Karate, Trent's other booming small business.

"It's good for you," he said. "Builds strength, confidence, flexibility…"

"Badassery?" she asked, taking off her shoes. "Because I decided that's what I really need. I need to be so tough that no-one will ever think about trying to kidnap me in my own home again."

Trent laughed. "From what I heard, you're pretty scary when you're kidnapped. But we can work on some stuff here, too." He bowed before stepping onto the mat-covered floor. "Let's go ahead and get started."

"But Carlos?"

"Carlos is always late," Trent said, beginning to run laps. "His loss."

As predicted, Carlos strolled in the door about 15 minutes later, as Trent was explaining the finer point of a moon kick to Danae. "What'd I miss?" Carlos asked. "Stretching? Good! I hate stretching."

The three of them worked out for about an hour, Danae focusing on perfecting her kicks and punches, while Trent and Carlos sparred and worked advanced techniques. When they were through, Trent and Carlos were glistening in sweat and panting, while Danae—the most out of shape—was breathing heavily and wiping her face with her tee-shirt. "Great!" she smiled in spite of being exhausted. "So now I get to meet this lady looking like this?"

"There's a shower upstairs if you want," Trent offered, handing her a white towel. She excused herself and the guys sat down on the mats. "She picks this up so fast!" Trent exclaimed. Carlos took a swig from his water bottle. "And she's really flexible," he said sweetly.

"Oh really?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"She's incredible, Carlos," Trent pressed.

"I know," Carlos agreed.

"But?"

"But…" Carlos ran a hand through his dark spiky hair. "I don't want to ruin it, you know? She's a great pal," he smiled, white teeth flashing against his tan skin, "She's the best. I don't want to lose her by being an idiot."

"So you're going to see other women?" Trent asked.

Carlos just grinned.

"I'm serious, Carlos!" Trent joked. "I worry about you being single."

"I'll be fine," his friend assured him. "Did I tell you Nicole is back?" he said after a pause.

"So that's where you were yesterday! I knew it couldn't have been a case!"

"Oh, it's a case," Carlos assured him. He relayed the entire story how Nicole just happened to walk into Thunder Investigations. "I can't tell Kim, though."

"Definitely not," Trent agreed. "Not only is she not paying, but you two have some…you know…personal history."

Carlos laughed. "Yeah, exactly. I wish."


	4. Chapter 4

Carlos drove them all in his Durango. It was a long trip, as they had to fight the Saturday traffic in town, then travel an additional fifteen minutes or so out of the metroplex to get to their destination. That left Danae and Carlos much-needed time to catch up.

"So you went back to Indiana?" he asked her. "How was it?"

Danae sighed in the back seat. "Really weird," she said softly. "There was no Roger, no Nic, and everyone was really torn up about it." Roger, her ex-fiancé and drug dealer, was killed by his drug lord, who sent his best friend, Nic, to Dallas to kill Danae. In a fantastic coincidence, Nic had worked with the Ramirez gang in trafficking drugs, and the two formed an alliance to take both Danae and Carlos out. "And no one knew what happened but me. Since he's dead," she went on, "the police decided not to make a big public scene about it. Nobody understands why I'm so upset…Nic and Roger are still the good guys."

"That's rough," Carlos agreed. "How are you coping?"

"It's better here," she admitted. "You, at least, seem to get it, and all your friends are really supportive. You're lucky."

"I know," he laughed. "I wake up every day and realize that."

"I'm just looking forward to getting on with my life," she concluded enthusiastically. Carlos raised an eyebrow and stole a quick glance at Trent. It sounded like Danae's plans involved moving beyond the whole messy situation…and the tenderness she and Carlos had almost had at that time. Trent shrugged. He wasn't going to read too much into it. Even if Carlos and Danae couldn't see it, Trent knew they would be great together. How could he set that up without being obvious or forcing the idea on them?

"Speaking of getting on with life, I hear they're sending Margo back undercover," Carlos said.

"Yeah," Trent said. "I'm not sure what I think about that."

"She's a big girl," Carlos shrugged. "You can trust her."

"I know that," Trent said, "But I don't trust the situation. I mean, the FBI made it pretty clear last time that she's expendable. Turn here," Trent said as Carlos turned right off the lonely highway and onto a rural road. The sun had faded the yellow lines on the road so that they were barely visible. Houses were few and far between, sitting far from the main road.

"It's like being home again," Danae murmured as they passed a tall farmhouse.

"This is true hick country," Carlos said. "There are more animals than people."

"This is nothing," Danae said, leaning forward over Carlos' shoulder. "There were more pigs behind my house than there were people in my entire town." Trent whistled, and Danae sat back. "I kind of miss the quiet."

Carlos chuckled deeply. "Farm girl."

"Well we can't all have Detective Sandoval's glamorous suburban childhood," she retorted.

"Mmmhmmm," he agreed. "Don't diss the Sandovals until you've met them."

"I wouldn't dare," she grinned again, squeezing his shoulder to let him know she was joking.

"It's up there on the right," Trent told Carlos, who turned down a dusty path and parked in front of an old farm house. As the trio approached the front door, it opened, and a tiny, jovial woman in her late sixties came out of the house. "Mrs. Peters?" Trent addressed her. "I'm Trent Malloy from Thunder Investigations, and this is my partner Carlos Sandoval."

"Nice to meet you," Carlos took her gnarled hand after Trent had greeted her. "This is Danae Launey. She agreed to help us out in this case."

"Your house is beautiful, Mrs. Peters," Danae gushed as she shook hands.

"Call me Gwendy, please," the old woman insisted. "Please, come inside with me, children." Trent smiled at being called a kid again and followed her.

"May I look around outside?" Danae asked.

"Certainly dearie," Gwendy said before she, Trent, and Carlos slipped inside the old house. "Can I get you boys some cookies and milk?" she asked.

"No thank you," Carlos answered. He wanted to get down to business. "Where are you hearing these noises?" Gwendy led them up creaky wooden stairs to the second story. They stared down a well-cleaned wooden hallway.

"Forget ghosts," she said in a conspiritorial tone as she entered a room that appeared to be a study. "The real reason I called you is because I think there are aliens out in the fields."

"Aliens," Carlos stated.

"I know it sounds batty, but I see them. Black figures making their way through the fields to a glowing spot." She pointed out the window at a cornfield. "I hear sounds of machinery, and it's nothing I've ever heard before. And I've been around a while, you know."

"Are you sure they're not just some kids trying to get lost in the corn fields?" Trent asked. "There's any number of ways to explain what you see and hear."

"Take a look around, Mr. Malloy," she said pertly, indicating the fields that surrounded her house, unbroken by any roads. "You'd have to walk a long way to get out here, and no kid in this day and age is going to go to so much trouble for a lark. Even now you can see the start of a crop circle," she finished.

A muffled moaning filled the room, making the hair stand up on the back of Carlos' neck. He exchanged a look with Trent.

"Talk about timing!" Trent said. "Have you ever heard this sound before?" he asked.

"Yes!" she said, excited. "That's the sound! The machinery!" Indeed, there were sounds like the clanking and shifting of metal over metal mixed in with the moaning. She went back to the window to see if she could see anyone in the fields. "I wonder if they'll come during the day! They've never been so bold before!"

"Who's coming?" Danae asked, entering the room.

"Did you find anything?" Trent asked her.

"I don't know what I'm looking for yet," she answered. "Sounds like this is the best place to start." She went over the room, just as the guys had earlier, except that she knelt beside a heating vent that ran under the window. "Does this house still use water circulation heating?" she asked Gwendy in awe.

"Why yes," she nodded. "I believe it does." Danae looked out the window above the vent.

"I'll be back," she told them as she left again. Trent looked to Carlos, who seemed as puzzled as anyone.

"I'll follow her," he suggested.

Outside, the sun was shining brightly as Danae circled the house, wading through the long grass. Gwendy, for all of her good vices, was not able to mow her lawn because of arthritis. It was the long, wild grass that usually grew in fields instead of the short, neat kind in most Dallas yards, Danae noticed. In fact, there were some wheat stalks mixed in with the grass. Danae stopped and stared at the dead cornfield Gwendy had pointed to from the window. She could tell by the way the rest of the fields looked that they had just been harvested the past fall, and the tractor tilling the softened dirt told her that they would be planted again come spring.

She turned her eyes back to the knee-high grass and noticed several little trails crisscrossing through it. Mrs. Peters had a mouse problem, no doubt. Danae squinted up at the house and stood beneath the window where Trent and Gwendy still stood. Crouching, she began to examine the ground.

"What're YEW doing here?" an uneducated voice asked from over her shoulder. Danae started, and looked up into blue eyes sunk deep in a weathered face.

"I'm a guest of Mrs. Peters," she told the man as she stood up and wiped her hands on her jeans. She stuck out a hand. "Danae Launey."

"Bucky," he introduced himself. "This here is my brother, Wayne." Both brothers had strong grips.

"Do you own the farm land?" she asked them as they put their heavy leather gloves on again.

"Naw, Peters owns alla this. We just work it," Wayne, the taller and skinnier of the two said. His voice was lower than his brother's.

"From here?" she asked. "I mean, I don't see a barn or a shed or any other machines here, so I didn't think…"

"Barn's right across that field there," Bucky pointed over his shoulder, east of the house.

Wayne spit tobacco juice. "Listen, Danae," he said, putting his hands on his hips. "I don't know what business you have with the ole lady, but she's crazy."

"Crazy?" she prodded.

"She sees things. She hears things," Bucky drawled. "It's best jest not to humor her. She was always talking about ghosts this and that when she moved in."

"Huh…Interesting," she commented. "Is it just you two who work this land? I mean, that's just an awful lot of acres for only two people!"

"Danae?" She spun toward the sound of her name, and saw Carlos making his way across the yard to her. "Who are your friends?"

"This is Bucky and Wayne," she pointed to them in turn. "They're brothers. They work Mrs. Peters' land for her."

"Naw, we don't work for her," Wayne protested. "Well, not really," he amended his exclamation. Seeing Trent and Gwendy approaching, the brothers backed away. They nodded to Gwendy, greeting her with a terse "mam" before heading back toward the barn.

"What's going on?" Trent wanted to know.

Carlos wiped his forehead with his arm. It could get warm out here under the sun. "Ask her," he said.

"Kits," she announced proudly, earning a look of puzzlement from everyone. She bade them come closer and crouched in the dirt again. "You've got foxes, ma'am," she told Gwendy. "See these tracks? And this is the opening to the nest. I bet you anything we find mama and a few kits inside."

"Foxes are making the moaning and clanking noises?" Carlos asked.

Gently, Danae pulled back the grass and sticks that hid the entrance to the fox lair, just inside a broken basement window. A pair of large, intelligent eyes beamed back at the four humans, and a brood of younglings pressed against the mother fox's long, warm fur. Quietly, Danae pointed out the metal duct that formed one side of the burrow. "Mama fox chose this because it's warm on top of the furnace. The kits scratch against it when she leaves to hunt at night, and they probably make sounds that echo up into every room through the heating vents." Carefully, she covered the opening to the fox hole again and stood up.

"Well I'll be," Gwendy breathed. "How long will they be there?"

"How long ago did the noises start?" Danae asked.

"A couple weeks ago," she said. "Almost three weeks now, I guess."

"I'd give it two more weeks, then," she said. "By then the kits will be going with mama to find food."

"So is that case closed then?" Danae asked during the ride back to Thunder Investigations.

"Not quite," Trent answered. "She's seeing lights in that corn field, and…figures…going there at night. I don't think the fox is responsible for that. Who were those guys?"

"Farmers," Carlos said. "They work for Gwendy. Or they don't work? I was confused about that."

"They work the land that she owns," Danae explained. "But she doesn't know anything about farming, so she's not exactly their boss. They said that she was insane and that she had always complained about ghosts."

"I want to see what their story is," Carlos said. "They acted kind of shady, if you ask me."

"It's not over yet," Trent agreed.

"So are you going to come with me to the big Sandoval-clan-dinner tomorrow?" Carlos changed the subject.

Trent saw an opportunity and took it. "I can't," he said. "I've got plans with Margo."

"But what about Madre?" Carlos asked his friend incredulously. "She will never forgive me for not bringing you along!"

"I'd be there if I could," Trent told him sincerely, "but we've got reservations, and there's tuxedoes and dresses involved. I fear the wrath of Margo more than I do Madre."

Carlos raised an eyebrow. "That's saying a lot. So I'll have to make a solo appearance?"

"Take Danae," Trent suggested nonchalantly.

"That's just plain mean," Carlos replied. "Make Danae face the kraken so soon? She'll hate me for sure!"

"Never," Danae cut in.

"It's a good idea," Trent insisted.

"It's a horrible idea," Carlos argued.

"How about you ask and I decide?" Danae proposed.

"Fine. Danae, do you want to brave the fires of Hell to come to dinner with my family? This includes mother, sisters, nephews, aunts, uncles…" Carlos would have gone on in detail about the mass chaos that was his family, but Danae cut him off.

"Sure," she answered simply.

"What?" He asked if she was insane while Trent laughed.


	5. Chapter 5

When Trent walked in the door of Thunder Investigations after getting back from the Haunted House case, Sherry Kinney was waiting in a chair for him. Before Kim could introduce them, Sherry stood, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder, and offered her hand.

"Sherry Kinney," she said. "I really appreciate you taking my case, Mr. Malloy."

"Sure," Trent replied. "Won't you come to my office?" he asked. As he ushered her into the other room he raised his eyebrows at Kim. He wasn't expecting this interview to take place so soon. He had wanted Kim to set up the meeting for later in the afternoon, or even Monday. Kim just gave him a sheepish smile, and Trent realized that Sherry probably didn't want to wait that long. In his office, Trent offered Sherry a chair, while he took his seat behind his desk. He studied her briefly—long enough for him to get an impression of her but not long enough that she would feel uncomfortable. Sherry seemed very self-assured, with reasonable brown eyes under a mop of straight brown hair. He sat back in his chair. "The reason I wanted to meet with you was to get a better idea of who I'm looking for," he said, blue eyes earnest and measuring. "Did JC9758 tell you anything about himself? A name? A description? Details are going to find him."

"Um…we didn't really worry too much about that," she said. "Once we discovered how similar we were, we got to know each other. I know that he likes classic literature, but I don't know what color his eyes are."

"What happened exactly?" Trent went on. "All I know is I'm searching for a man that you were involved with somehow whose name or appearance you don't know."

"This is going to sound silly," she said, crossing her legs, "but I met him in a chat room one night. It's hard for me to date men because they all find out sooner or later who I am and turn into monstors. I've been through one hellish marriage already because of my family's wealth. So I thought if I looked online, I might find someone who could love me for me, instead of my money. This is how I met John."

"He gave you that name?" Trent asked as he scribbled it down.

"I called him John and he called me Sherry. Anyway, we talked about everything under the stars, barring family and looks. And even if it sounds corny, I fell in love with him. Then a few weeks ago, he just disappeared. I just want to give our love a chance," she added sadly.

"What about a birthday? Or an age?" Trent continued his inquiry.

"It's in his screen name, I think," she said. "September 7, 1958. Or at least I sent him a gift on September 7th."

"Excellent," Trent murmured. "That's a great start." He went on to ask questions about Sherry herself. Experience had taught him that knowing her would give him an edge to finding his target since the two were connected. For intimate connections, especially, one person invariably left their mark on the other. After the interview was completed to his satisfaction, he thanked her and showed her out. Next, he reviewed his notes. He still had time to visit the last internet café before he took off for the night.

As Trent suspected, his last internet café brought him no closer to finding "John." Instead, the detective headed back to one of the sites he had visited yesterday. The girl who had told him he could see a list of customers was working the front desk again.

"Why don't you come back here?" she ushered Trent into a large office out of the sight of the customers. Trent looked around in awe. In every nook and cranny lay stacks of paper. He picked one up and recognized the form all computer users were made to complete before being allowed to use the services.

"Are all of these forms from paying customers?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "These are just the hard copies, though. The secretary doesn't believe in hard copy filing, and it's so not my job to do it. I just enter all these into a computer. We keep all information on an electronic database to make things easier to find." She cleared a stack of papers off a beaten-up desk chair and bade Trent sit. "You can use this computer to look up what you need to." She showed him how he could look up people by first or last names, birthday, or address.

Trent sat down, and his search for John's birthday found one person, a Fantine O'Harris, female. Years of experience led Trent to the conclusion that she probably was not the person for whom he was looking. Next, he searched for the name "John," pulling up almost forty names. "Can I print this list out?" Trent asked his hostess, who had come back to check on him.

"Sure," she said. She leaned over his shoulder and punched a button. A few seconds later, the printer whirred out two pages of Johns and their information. Trent thanked her and returned to Thunder Investigations to consider his next move.

Trent worked under the assumption that one of the Johns on his list was, in fact, JC9758. Short of researching each of the thirty eight Johns, there was little he could do to get any further clues. Or was there?

"Kim," Trent walked out of his office and leaned on her desk. She was busy painting her toenails, and looked up guiltily "Can you get into a chat room and track down this guy?"

"What server was he using?" she asked as she looked over the notes Trent had taken during his interview with Sherry. Finding what she sought, she turned her attention to the computer. Her fingers became a blur as they danced across the keyboard. It was times like these, when Kim was in her element, that Trent really appreciated her abilities. "Here you go," she said just as he turned to go back into his office. She spun the monitor around, and there was an information sheet for his screen name.

"This doesn't help too much," he mused as he looked over the meager profile. "I already know his supposed name, and there's no mention of his birthday."

"Maybe she just assumed his birthday from his name," Kim said absently. "Maybe the numbers have something to do with numerology instead." Trent stared at her. It was an insane idea, but if Carlos was here, he'd go for it. Trent grabbed his coat and yelled over his shoulder that he would be back in an hour.

* * *

Carlos sat in his parked car and used binoculars to single Nicole's silver sports car out of a full parking lot. If her car was any indication, she wasn't kidding about being worth lots of money. She should be leaving work soon, at which time he would follow her home. While he waited he surveyed all around him, looking for an old red sedan, the best description she could give him of the car she thought pursued her everywhere. The more he pressed her for details, the more generic and evasive her answers became. Something about this case didn't feel right.

His cell phone rang, and he answered it. It was his mother. "Be sure to tell Trenton that he is absolutely not to bring me flowers," she said excitedly.

"He actually can't come," he replied.

"What? Why not?"

"He has plans, Madre," he said. "Plans with his girlfriend that he cannot break under penalty of death." He cut off his mother's ensuing rant about how Carlos needed to find a nice girl to settle down with, and did Margo have a Catholic sister, when he saw Nicole exit the building. "Ma, I gotta go. I'm working." He was still arguing with her, this time about respecting elders, when he pulled away from the curb after Nicole. "No really, I'm sorry, Ma. I'm just in the middle of doing my job, and I need to go. I'll call you tonight, I promise." There was a pause and a guilt-trip from his mother. "I love you, too. Bye." At last he could give his whole attention to following Nicole while obeying all posted signs and looking for another red car trying to do the same thing.

He parked behind her in front of a very nice apartment building in a rich part of Dallas. The only other times he'd been there was driving around at Christmas time, gawking at the festive lights. This neighborhood always had the best displays because they could afford gaudy, over-the-top displays. He got out of his car and tugged on his coat nervously, somehow knowing that his worn suit, while very becoming on him, was not up to par here. He entered the building where he had seen Nicole go in. She was waiting for him just inside the doorway.

"Did you see anyone?" she asked eagerly. Carlos shook his head. "You believe me, right?" she asked, laying a hand on his crossed forearm.

"Of course," he replied sincerely. "Why wouldn't I?" There was a confusing pause, chock full of sexual tension, until Nicole broke it.

"Don't be a stranger," she said lightly. "Call me sometime."

"I will," he assured her as she moved closer.

"You'd better," she grinned, reciting the conversation they had four years ago in Johnny's bar. Like that conversation, this, too, ended in a shy kiss. Unlike that conversation, the shy kiss evolved into something deeper and more exciting. By the time Carlos left the building, his head was spinning with thoughts about Nicole, memories of El Vaquero, and mixed feelings about both. He shoved them aside and grew wary as he saw a strange man leaning against his car.

"Who are you?" Carlos asked in a gruff voice. He pulled himself up to his full six feet of height and ineffectively stared down at the other man, who was barely an inch shorter. He was tan, with sandy hair that was starting to bald, and a five o'clock shadow. He crossed his muscular arms, nonplussed at Carlos.

"Rock Avery, PI," he introduced himself. "I was hired to keep an eye on Mrs. Ratcliff. She doesn't need you to bother her further, Mr…."

"Sandoval," Carlos finished. "Carlos Sandoval, PI. I'm sorry; did you call Nicole 'Mrs. Ratcliff'?"

"Nicole Ratcliff, yes," Rock answered, confusion in his dark eyes. "What brings you into this?"

"Into what?"

"Mr. Ratcliff is…suspicious of his wife's goings-on, and hired me to keep her out of trouble," he explained. Carlos nodded. Translation: Rock was to stop the affair Mr. Ratcliff guessed Nicole was having.

"Smart girl, isn't she?" Carlos smiled wryly. "She hired me to protect her from a man who was following her. That would be you?"

"It would seem that way," Rock agreed in the same tone of voice. At least he had a good sense of humor about the situation.

Carlos scoffed. "So what are we going to do?"

"Set her up, I guess," the other man replied casually.

"That won't end well with your client," Carlos replied offhandedly. Rock shrugged. Carlos smiled at him and handed him a business card. "We'll get in touch about this later," he said before he slid into his car and drove away.


	6. Chapter 6

Trent sat in a dimly lit waiting room going over the Internet Love case in his mind. In reality, he knew nothing definitive about JC9758. "John" could have lied about his name, his age, even his gender to Sherry. Trent felt sympathy for the poor woman who only wanted to get in touch with him because she thought they were soul mates, but he had to wonder: Why would a man as seemingly wonderful as John keep so much a secret? How do you love someone who won't let you into their secrets? That was one question he hoped Miss Lucky could answer.

"Mr. Malloy?" a beautiful woman stood in the doorway, her multi-colored robe hanging loosely on her willowy frame and contrasting with her deep brown skin. Her angled olive eyes seemed to be looking into the distance, and her face was happy and relaxed. Trent stood and followed her into the back room, where she sat down on a lump of many-colored pillows and bade Trent do the same. The tranquil smell of incense was thick in the tiny room, making his lids heavy. "What kin I and I do for you?" she asked in a soft Jamaican accent, swaying in time to the sitar music playing in the background.

"I'm…uh…" for a moment Trent couldn't remember where he was, and then he snapped to attention. "I'm looking for someone." He pulled out a scrap of paper on which he had written the screen name.

"Are you serious?" Lucky asked him. Her face had suddenly lost its dreaminess, and her green eyes sparkled maliciously. "You bring to the great Miss Lucky a screen name?" Her voice had lost its smooth accent, and she rummaged through the hidden pockets of her robe for a cigarette. She lit one and blew a puff of smoke straight up into the air. "Whateva. I'll do this one for free." Her over-long nails ripped the piece of paper from his hands. "The letters are this guy's initials, and the rest is his birthday." She shoved the scrap back at Trent and turned toward the window.

"It's not his birthday," he insisted, glad she was wrong. It made him feel less foolish for having come here in the first place.

"Well it's an age of some sort. I would bet '58 is a year of importance for the fella if it's not his age or the year he was born, and the other two numbers have significance for him. Sports numbers? Kids' ages? Now if you'll excuse me," she took another long drag on her smoke. "I have things to do." She raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrows, indicating he should go. Trent stood up, and the great Miss Lucky's hand reached out. Trent gave her a few bills and left, taking the information back to Thunder Investigations.

"I can't believe you're taking the word of this Miss Lucky girl," Kim complained as Trent dutifully poured over the list of names he had gotten.

"It's worth a try," he insisted. "If anything narrows down this list, I'll be grateful." He held up his list of names with a triumphant look upon his face. "What a coincidence! I found a John Covenly born in 1958."

Kim pushed Trent out of her way and started an internet search for him. "Uh-oh," she said. Trent looked at the screen, and Kim highlighted a sentence. "He's got a kid."

"Two of them," Trent said, pointing lower on the screen. "And they'd be…" he did the math in his head.

"Nine and seven," Kim answered.

Trent printed out Covenly's picture. Before he talked to John or Sherry, he would need to get more solid evidence that this was in reality who he was looking for. He would run the picture to the cafés Monday.

* * *

"Is it just me, or did Guy's Night used to be more fun?" Carlos asked around a bite of pizza. He and Trent sat on Carlos' couch watching basketball. Tommy, the newest addition to their semi-regular gatherings lay on the floor, intent on the game. "It's all your fault you know," Carlos said, picking up his beer.

How do you figure?" Trent asked, taking a slag of his own bottle.

"You had to go and get all domestic on us," Carlos stated simply.

"And how!" Tommy chimed in. "Aww come on!" he yelled at the TV. "I could've made that shot, and I'm criminally short!"

Trent slouched down further on the cushions and scowled. "Don't forget that I can take both of you…at once!" Tommy dismissed this possibility rudely. "And besides," Trent said impishly, "I'm not the one whose couch smells like woman!" Tommy was up off the floor in a flash, and all three of them smelled Carlos' couch, Trent and Tommy teasing him without end about it.

"She hasn't been here in over two weeks," Carlos waved them away. "Besides, it's not like that. You two can talk, seeing how you've found your girls."

Tommy laughed. "Is this the longest you've been single?" he asked, "Ten days?"

"Not counting the 13 years from his birth to his first girlfriend," Trent answered, cackling again.

"Please, I was a stud in the first grade," Carlos retorted.

"Maybe you just go after the wrong kind of girls," Tommy suggested, getting another slice of pizza.

"Well we can't all marry our best friends," Carlos muttered.

"I think Danae would be good for you, then," Trent said as Carlos polished off his beer. "You two are already almost inseparable."

"Yeah, because I got her shot," his friend said dejectedly. "And kidnapped. That's not exactly a great start."

"It worked for Alex and Walker," Tommy said.

"You've had worse," Trent added, bottle to his lips. He broke into a grin when Carlos laughed at the truth in his friend's words, then chugged the last of his beer.

"OHH!" the three guys yelled as the ball bounced off the rim again.


	7. Chapter 7

Carlos picked Danae up at noon on Sunday and spent the trip across town in a nervous rant explaining his family.

"When Hector died, it tore my family apart," he said of his older brother's murder many years ago by a drug dealer. "Then we found out years later that Hector was trying to get out and do the right thing." He grinned. "We've had a big get-together each year ever since around his birthday. And it's not as bad as I make it out to be. For one thing, there's my mom's cooking. But," his face grew dark, "Everyone in the immediate family will be there."

"It sounds really nice, actually," Danae smiled.

"I'm glad you're coming with me," he admitted.

"Are you always this nervous when you see your family?" she asked him.

He laughed. "I'm the youngest," he explained with evident mirth in his voice, "No wife, no kids…I'm a bad son."

"Oh no!" Danae smacked her forehead. "They're going to be all over me." Carlos laughed heartily and agreed with a wicked smile. "What do I tell them about us?"

Carlos parked in front of a small house that was already teeming with people despite his observation that his niece and her family hadn't yet arrived. "Just tell the truth," he winked. He was not only nervous about showing up still single, but he was also worried about his family not liking Danae and driving her away. Maybe, though, his relatives would divine Danae's feelings for him, a subject which occupied his mind far more than it should, thanks to Trent's stupid comments.

They got out of his car, and he locked the doors. He could tell Danae was now apprehensive of meeting his family. He gave her hand a warm, reassuring squeeze as he led her to the front door. His nephew, Jesse, greeted them as he held the door open.

"They're all in the living room, Uncle Carlos," the boy—almost a young man—told them. Carlos made a quick introduction of Danae then continued through the house towards the sound of loud arguing and talking.

"Do I hear…" a woman's strong voice asked as she stood from her plush armchair. "Carlitos!"

He flashed his hugest grin and stepped around the kids playing on the floor. "Mama." He gave her a fierce hug and kissed each side of her face. "I know I couldn't bring Trent this time, but I brought you flowers!"

"Oh for shame!" she chided. She hadn't yet seen Danae, who was hidden from view by Carlos' broad shoulders.

"Trent is still my favorite," she told everyone. "He's got a lovely girl, unlike this one!" Indeed, Carlos' longtime friend had become a loved family member by default years ago.

"Well I brought a new friend for you to love and adore," he said impishly, stepping aside to let Danae approach. "This is Danae Launey. She's the one I was telling you about the other day."

"The one that cuts up dead people?" someone else asked.

"It's among my many talents," Danae laughed. Strangers were always amazed, and usually a little grossed out, when they heard about her job.

Mrs. Sandoval hugged Danae in welcome, whispering, "Please marry my son!" as she kissed her cheeks briskly. The young lady just blushed and smiled shyly as Carlos' mother winked. "Manners!" she insisted loudly to the rest of the room, and the others introduced themselves. Jesse's mother, Teresa, embraced Danae as the matriarch did. She also met Jesse's best friend, Bobby, and other assorted aunts and uncles, each with varying knowledge of the English language. As the last person, and elderly aunt, was introduced, a woman younger even than Danae, her toddler, new infant, and husband made their entrance. Carmen was the daughter of Carlos' other sister, and had married her husband Hector when they were both very young.

"We're all here!" one of the elder uncles declared. "To the kitchen!"

Danae and Carlos followed the gaggle of Sandovals into another room, where a long table had been set up. Everyone seated themselves randomly, and Danae wound up near one end of the table across from Carlos. Teresa and Madre Sandoval set several hot dishes on the table, the enticing aromas making everyone's mouths water. Carlos pointed at various dishes and urged Danae to try them.

"Carlitos," Teresa picked on her younger brother. "Can we have a prayer?"

Carlos stood, bowed his head and clasped his hands. All others bowed their heads as he began. "Lord, thank you for bringing old family and new friends together today. Watch over us as we work and play, and keep Hector in our hearts always."

"Amen," Madre said emphatically. The others chorused their own "amen"s as Carlos sat back down.

"Let's eat!" Hector (Carmen's husband) rubbed his hands together eagerly; Madre made the best authentic Mexican cuisine this side of the Rio Grande. The dishes were passed around, and Jesse, seated to Danae's left, heaped her plate with food. Chatter burst out as they discussed family matters, but also the individual lives of people seated at the table. Jesse's academics, Carlos' career, and Carmen's new baby were among the topics. Before she knew what happened, Danae was sucked into the discussion. Because of all the talking, the meal lasted for over two hours, at which time the table was cleared and dessert was served. Afterwards, Carlos, Hector, Jesse and Bobby went outside with the younger children and began playing soccer in the backyard. The elders took their coffee into the living room and fell asleep on the couch or armchairs, leaving the younger women to sit around, play cards, and gossip.

They were interrupted just as Danae was finally gaining the upper hand in a game of gin as Carlos entered the house in a huff. He quickly stomped into the kitchen where he held a trembling hand under the flow of water from the sink tap.

"What happened?" Madre asked worriedly.

"There was a piece of broken glass outside in the yard, and I fell on it," Carlos scowled.

"You're cut?" Madre proceeded to panic as only mothers can. She hovered over her son and began speaking in rapid Spanish. Danae butted her way in and took his hand gently.

"Oh he's fine," she said dismissively, which only made Carlos scowl more deeply. His hand hurt! "I'll take care of him. Can I get some tweezers, a Band-Aid, and some cotton balls?" Madre whisked away into the bathroom to find the items Danae had requested and returned with incredible speed. Danae shooed her back to the card game while she talked with Carlos. His palm still had small bits of glass in the wound. "Don't look at it," she warned as she began to pluck at the small shards.

"Ow!" he jerked his hand away.

"I told you!" she laughed at him, adding insult to injury. "Watch Teresa's hand for me. I want to win this round!" As he squinted at his big sister's cards, Danae quickly pulled the remaining grains out of his hand. She rinsed the heel of his palm under the sink again and looked to make sure she had gotten all the glass out before pressing a clean cotton swab to the wound and holding it there.

"I don't think you're going to win," he told her. "She's a card shark." The color had returned to his face. He looked down at his hand, cradled in hers. "How's it looking?" he asked softly.

Danae looked up in his brown eyes. His face was so close to hers. He was so close to her. "I don't think you'll need stitches," she managed to say in a low voice. Carlos' face slowly broke into a wide grin, which she mirrored. She studied his hand again. The bleeding had stopped, so she covered it with the colorful, cartoon Band-Aid and sent the mischievous man back outside with a playful shove.

"So Danae," Teresa prompted as she sat back down. "What's with you and my brother?" Danae blushed, grinned, and opened her mouth to reply.

* * *

Carlos was not expecting Margo to be the one knocking on his door that night. She was on edge, distracted, and she was driving him nuts with all the pacing. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested. Margo declined, clearly dreading the talk that would inevitably follow, and changed her mind. It was why she came here, after all! She grabbed her jacket and walked alongside Carlos down the street. The sun had almost completely set, casting them in red light, and the mild temperature made for a pleasant evening.

"I dream about them every night," she said abruptly, just when Carlos had given up hope that she would say anything at all. He put his hands in his pockets and waited for her to go on. "Especially Ira. He was so dangerous, yet somehow…compelling. Attractive. The perfect gentleman. I'm still scared of him. You know they never positively ID-ed his bones in the fire?" She took a breath and continued talking about the assignment that had almost ended with her dead. "Everyone in the Reformists was crazy. They literally were not right in the head, yet they befriended me so openly…" she swallowed hard, and her voice lowered to a whisper. "It's hard to tell sometimes who the traitor is. Is it me for destroying the one thing these people lived for? They thought they were doing it for the greater good! Or did they betray me by trying to kill me? I guess that's a given, but how could they have been my friends if they were against everything I stand for?" She was crying now, and Carlos knew that it was too soon for her to be back undercover. The psychologist was dead wrong; she wasn't over the Reformists yet. Maybe she never would be.

For once, Carlos took the time to think before he spoke. He wished he could tell her about the demons that haunted his dreams more and more frequently, but right now Margo needed words of encouragement, not commiseration. "Bosses tell you not to get emotionally involved with a case, but how can you not? What makes people like Ira or Johnny Primaor the Ramirez brothers so dangerous is that they're nice guys doing terrible things. There's a line drawn in the sand, and a long time ago, you and I chose one side, and they chose another. Knowing that doesn't make our job any easier, but it makes it right."

"You know," Margo held the tiniest of smiles on her lips, "You do get smarter every day you're single."

"So you tell me," Carlos laughed. They walked a little further in silence.

"Trent won't understand," Margo said after a while. "Not like you do. You've lived it; you know what I'm feeling."

"You might have to explain it to him," Carlos conceded with a shrug. "What he really doesn't understand is why you won't talk to him at all. He worries." Margo murmured an agreement, and Carlos changed the subject. "So how is it going? Being back on the job?"

Margo laughed. "It's boring as hell. We can't get this fish to bite. Both of us have blackmailable backgrounds that don't take a lot of digging to discover, right? But still no phone call, no email, no letters asking for money. My boss is very angry."

"Have you considered something a little more…unorthodox?"

"Oh you're good, Carlitos," she said, shaking her head. "My 'husband' is supposed to have a child from a college indiscretion. But what are you insinuating?"

"I'm saying, maybe your bad guy doesn't do background searches. Maybe he has the houses themselves under surveillance. So maybe it's time to use the drugs entered in the evidence room as bait. Or maybe you should invite Trent over for lunch while your 'hubby' is away." He wiggled his eyebrows. "If you know what I mean."

"Carlos!" she slapped his shoulder indignantly. "That's just crazy enough to work," she said after a pause.


	8. Chapter 8

Rock Avery came by Thunder Investigations Monday morning to discuss the fall of Mrs. Nicole Ratcliff.

"Rock?" Kim asked as her eyes travelled up and down his muscular form. "Is that your given name?"

"No," he replied, clearly off his game around Kim, "but Ned Avery isn't exactly a powerful name."

"Ah," she replied. "You could have just told me it was your middle name."

"It actually is my middle name," he replied.

"I know," she said with a small smile. She had looked him up to be sure he was who he said he was. "Your history is quite impressive, actually. I mean, saving all those children…"

"Rock?" Trent came out of his office, saving the poor PI from Kim's attempt at flirting. "I'm Trent Malloy, Carlos' partner. You know, we should really consider working together sometime."

Rock looked over his shoulder at Kim. "You know, I might like that," he said. "And I might be out of a job after this, so I'll consider it."

"Got it!" Carlos said as he came through the door. "You were right, Rock. Nicole was only looking for your car, so once I called her and told her I had gotten rid of you in traffic, she never even noticed me following."

"Misdirection," Rock agreed. "So you got pictures?"

Carlos handed him an envelope. "Listen, I had to confront her. I hope you know that this case was personal to me."

Rock sighed. "What did you do?"

"I asked her why she lied to me and showed her the pictures I took. Turns out she's just a man-eater. She married Ratcliff for the money only. She's had a handful of lovers since."

Rock handed Carlos an envelope. "Ratcliff is a womanizer and a fraud. She signed a prenuptual agreement, and she'll get nothing now that she's been caught cheating."

"But these pictures?" Carlos looked through them. They were of Mr. Ratcliff and a blonde woman, dated two months ago—five weeks before Nicole noticed Rock following her.

"Misdirection," Rock said again. "I'm not saying she deserves his money, but I am saying that he definitely does not deserve it. I took these the day he hired me."

"I'll see that she gets them, and the number of a divorce lawyer," Kim said. She winked at Rock as she took the envelope from Carlos. "You boys are bad!"

* * *

Trent returned to Thunder Investigations from his lunch break an hour and a half late and slipped into his office wordlessly. He sat down with a sigh and ran his hands through his already disheveled blonde hair as Carlos came in after him. Trent looked up guiltily.

"You were out for a long lunch, Mr. Responsible," he teased.

"I went with Margo to check out the house," he said tiredly.

"She didn't!" The Hispanic's eyes were wide.

"Didn't what?"

Carlos sat down on the edge of Trent's desk. "She, uh, needed to create a scandal for the undercover work," he paused and lowered his voice, "and I suggested that you and Margo…" he wiggled his eyebrows. "Have an affair, if you know what I mean. In case it was the house being watched."

"What?" Trent yelled as he jumped up from his chair. It was not the reaction his friend expected.

"Easy," Carlos tried to assuage him. "For someone who just got some, you're pretty tense."

"Easy?" Trent repeated. "My girlfriend is using me and you want me to take it easy?"

"Uh-huh," Carlos wasn't convinced. In his mind, it took two to tango, and it was hard to force Trent to do anything against his will. "So what's the real problem? You can't be this mad about a lunchtime rendezvous with Margo."

Trent sighed and sat back down. He wished Carlos didn't know him so well. That wasn't really what was bothering him. "It's just…she doesn't tell me things anymore, like that the house could be bugged, or even about the undercover assignment! She just keeps everything to herself anymore like she's afraid I'll overreact or something."

"Have you talked to her about it?" Carlos prodded.

"How do I tell the woman I love that we have a serious problem without destroying what we have?" Trent asked before scoffing. "I can't believe I'm asking you for relationship advice."

Carlos laughed and his voice was wry. "All relationships have problems, Trent, believe me. Just don't do what I do and let problems be the end. If you love her half as much as you say you do, then you owe it to her—and yourself—to fix this. Talk to her and work through it."

Trent mulled over his friend's advice. "I think you actually get smarter the longer you're single," he quipped.

"Thanks, mano."


	9. Chapter 9

Trent propped his elbows on his desk and folded his hands. "I've found John," he told Sherry, who looked simultaneously excited and scared. "I've talked to John, and he agreed that you could see him if you wished." Sherry attempted to talk, non-coherent syllables escaping her lips and tears forming in her eyes. At last she managed to ask when she could see him. "Can you come with me this afternoon? At 4?" he asked. She nodded, smiling broadly and biting back tears. Trent checked his watch. "Be back here in an hour, and I'll take you out there."

Too quickly, the hour passed, and Trent was chauffeuring an anxious Sherry. "John made me promise not to tell you anything until after the meeting," he said.

"Why would he do that?" she asked with a trace of alarm.

"He also said that the final decision to meet is yours," Trent said as he pulled up to the curb and shifted his car into park. He glanced at the time. "We're here early. Just sit tight. He should be getting back any minute." He pointed out a beige house across the road.

Sherry sat back and looked at the modest house with its small square of grass that served as the front yard and the little shack of a garage. Was John poor? Is that why he didn't want to meet her? But he didn't know that she was a millionaire!

Her thoughts were cut short when an old, rust-eaten hatchback pulled onto the cement apron in front of the garage. Sherry got out of the car and watched intently as a balding, middle-aged man got out of his own vehicle, holding a worn leather brief case and a suit jacket in one hand. He trudged toward the front door but never made it there before two kids came tearing out of the house and hugged him fiercely about the waist. He hugged them back, and Sherry could hear his throaty laugh from where she stood, partially hidden by Trent's blue sports car. John glanced around, searching for someone. His eyes locked on Sherry, and she gave a tiny wave. He smiled and shooed his kids inside. He paused in the doorway and looked back at Sherry, who nodded and got back in the car. Trent started the engine. He smoothly pulled away from the curb and headed back to Uppercuts. "Do you have any questions?" he asked Sherry gently.

"He's married, then?" her question was more of a dull statement.

"The Covenlys have been married for almost ten years now," Trent told her. "He has two kids, aged seven and nine."

"Oh," she said quietly, digesting his words.

"The only other thing he told me was that his commitment to his children outweighs anything you two had or ever could have, but that you gave him something he, quote: 'would cherish always.'" Trent finished. "He said your love sustains him, but his children need their mother, and they're his priority."

"Yeah, sure," she said. "I made the right decision," she said, trying to convince herself. "Not meeting him is the right thing to do…"

* * *

"Hey, Kim," Danae opened the door to Thunder Investigations. "Is Trent or Carlos in? I wanted to go back out to Gwendy's place and look around some more."

"Trent's finishing up the Internet Love case," Kim replied. "Turns out the guy is married with two kids and even though he's in love with Sherry, he can't abandon his family."

"That's so tragic!" Danae said.

"I know!" Kim replied. "Anyway, he just left and won't be back for another hour."

"What about Carlos?" she asked.

"He is giving a statement to Nicole's divorce attorney."

"Well, I guess I'll have to wait until tomorrow unless you want to come with me," Danae said, only half-joking.

"Actually, I wanted to talk with Mrs. Peters about financial matters anyway," Kim said as she stood up and pulled on her coat. "Her check bounced." She scribbled down a message for the boys that told them where she was and followed Danae out the door. As she shut and locked it behind her, the wind ruffled papers on her desk, and her note fell to the floor.

Gwendy was surprised to see them when they arrived. "I thought you had already figured out what was haunting my house," she chuckled.

"We found out what was causing the noise, yes, but not what you were seeing in the field," Danae smiled. "Mind if I take another look?"

"Oh, we just sprayed pesticides on the field. It's best not to walk out in that. Heavens only knows what that will do to you!"

"I'll just take a look from upstairs, then," Danae said, pulling out some binoculars. Kim asked some questions about how pleased Gwendy was with their service and was just about to address the bounced check when Danae came back. "I couldn't find anything unusual," she said. "You definitely have something moving in and out of there, though. You can see the trails."

"Oh that's alright, dearie," Gwendy said lightly. "I'm getting old, and there are a few screws loose. The eyes aren't as good as they used to be!"

"Thank you for your time," Kim smiled and shook her hand. She and Danae walked down the porch steps and headed for Danae's car, when Danae stopped.

"I want to check out back one last time," she decided. Kim trialed her around the perimeter of the house, completely disgusted by the thoughts of what could be lurking in the overgrown grass. The fox hole was abandoned, and Danae turned around, squinting into the setting sun at the fields. "That's weird," she told Kim, pointing to the corn field.

"What's weird?" Kim didn't see anything wrong. She was Dallas-born and –raised, and she rarely ever passed through the country, except en route to another town.

"They took all of the fields last fall," Danae explained as they walked back around the house toward the car. "Why would they leave that one still standing? And why would they spray in the middle of winter?"

"Yew sure are nosy," Bucky sneered from his seat on the hood of Danae's truck. Wayne, who carried a long, heavy wrench in his grimy hands, agreed. "I don't like people butting in on my business," he growled. "Gwendy don't be needing your services no more."

"Just a minute!" Kim interjected. "Who gave you the right to…" she trailed off, seeing Wayne tighten his grip on the wrench handle, and pieced everything together. "Right…you're the bad guys," she pointed at them for identifying emphasis. Before Wayne could even muster a leer, Kim grabbed Danae and ran as fast as she could away from the men. They decided their best bet was to lose their pursuers in the unmowed cornfield. Bucky quickly realized how difficult it would be to find them if they reached the thick jungle of cornstalks or the grove of trees beyond and yelled at Wayne to do something. His brother hurled his wrench and, it struck Danae hard on the outside of her ankle. She faltered, but continued running in spite of the pain.

They had only pushed their way ten feet into the maze of corn when they came across a clearing and screamed at the startling sight of a man there. The Native American sat deep in meditation, wearing only jeans and his thick-soled boots. His weathered face was tilted up to the amassing clouds, and his grey hair was even with the gut that bulged over the top of his denim waistline. He opened his compassionate brown eyes at the sound of the girls' yelp, and they stared at each other, mutually surprised.

When Bucky and Wayne reached that spot, drawn by the screaming they had heard, all that was left of them was Danae's car keys, which she had dropped in her surprise.


	10. Chapter 10

"What are you still doing here?" Carlos asked as he got back to Thunder Investigations. Trent was seated at Kim's desk, using her computer.

"I'm just messing around online. I got a lead on the Peters case. It seems that Bucky and Wayne's family used to own Gwendy's property, but they had to sell it when they went bankrupt," he shifted trains of thought. "You wouldn't happen to know where Kim's at, would you?"

"Her car's outside," Carlos commented. "I'll check downstairs with Butch when I leave. That sounds like motive to me," he referred to Trent's discovery by tapping the monitor. "We'll check it out tomorrow?"

"Sure," Trent agreed. "I closed the Internet Love case," he said.

"That was fast," Carlos said.

Trent told him about it. "I feel bad for her," he concluded.

"Yeah," Carlos said. "Ok, I'm out of here! I'll see you tomorrow for more Haunted House fun!"

As he left, the slamming door caused the papers on Kim's desk to fly everywhere. Trent sighed and started to pick them up. He marveled that with all of Kim's high-tech gadgets, she couldn't seem to order herself a paperweight so this wouldn't keep happening. A smaller piece of paper under the desk caught his attention. After checking it out, he immediately called Carlos. "Don't leave yet. I found a note from Kim saying she and Danae went out to the farm on business, but I just called Gwendy, and she said they left about two hours ago," Trent said.

"Maybe she just went home?" Carlos turned off his ignition and headed back up the stairs.

Trent pursed his lips. "This is Kim we're talking about," he said to Carlos' amusement. "Besides, her car is still here, and I can't get through to either of their cell phones."

"So we're going to look for them, right?" Carlos was back in the building now, and snapped his phone shut.

Despite Carlos' speed, the sun had almost finished setting by the time they got to the edge of the Peters' farm. If Trent was thinking what Carlos supposed he was thinking, the darkness would help cover them as they searched for Kim and Danae, but it would also make the finding process more difficult.

"We find Danae's truck, we find them," Trent explained. "And since this is the last place anyone saw them…"

"We start here," Carlos finished. He unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the Durango. "Let's do this," he said with a cheesy grin as he locked the doors.

They set off for the house to see if her truck was still parked there. Not finding it, they turned toward the barn east of the house. The men cut across the dead field in a trot, preferring the short cut to find out sooner rather than later if their hunch was right. They were breathing heavily when they reached the barn, but it only took Carlos a matter of seconds to pick the old lock on the door and enter.

Carlos cut through the darkness with his flashlight, and both men needed a couple minutes to adjust their eyes to the dim light and their noses to the smell of diesel and oil. The walls were lined with tools and tractor accessories, and the cold, concrete floor was cluttered with pieces of metal and ropes, causing them to trip as they circled the lone tractor. They pushed their way further into the barn, stepping through a large plastic curtain that divided the barn in half, to find Danae's truck. Her old, worn vehicle curiously looked like it belonged there amid all the rusty parts and crude machinery. Trent tried the driver's door, which opened readily for him. The dashboard pinged at him, and he looked up at Carlos.

"Doors are unlocked and the keys are in the ignition," he said.

"Someone drove it here," Carlos agreed before sliding into the passenger's seat. His flashlight revealed no other clues for the sleuths, but now they knew for sure that Danae and Kim had to be around the Peters property somewhere. Carlos just hoped they were alive and well, wherever they were.

"From where?" Trent asked as they checked the rest of the car. Carlos got out and walked around the outside. He held up a long, dried piece of grass he had pulled out of the grill. Where had he seen grass this long before?

"Right here," he said. "It was parked right out front of the house." The men quitted the barn and looked around in the last, quickly waning light. "If I wanted to hide someone, I'd put them in that field," he pointed west at the foreboding, razor-like stalks barely visible in the growing shadows.

"It's as good place as any to start," Trent shrugged, and the two of them trotted off to the field. As Carlos thought, the darkness made it almost impossible to find a trace of anything in the corn. Even with their flashlights, the long leaves cast crisscrossing shadows on the ground, obscuring it. Trent couldn't tell if he was seeing footprints or imagining them because of the way the light played in the hard-packed dirt. Neither man was in doubt, however, when they presently wandered into the clearing.

"Is that what I think it is?" Trent trailed off as Carlos knelt down beside one of many dark green shrubs.

"Marijuana," his friend answered grimly. He stood up and dusted off his hands. "This case gets better and better."

"We have to find the girls," Trent said darkly. He didn't need to elaborate on his fears that Kim and Danae were already in serious trouble. Carlos knew personally just how dangerous crossing drug dealers could be, even if for a 'minor' drug such as weed. A flash of lightning lit up the darkness, and the two men could faintly make out what they supposed to be footprints and a trail through the wall of corn. "This way," Trent trotted off in the direction of the tracks as the sky grumbled a warning.

They made it as far as the small grove of trees behind the field when Trent felt something strange underfoot. Before he could wonder about it, he and Carlos were swooped up in a sturdy rope net. They had blindly run into a trap that held them suspended some feet above the ground. A zag of lightning again split the night sky, preceding by scant seconds the pouring rain.

"Tell me this isn't happening," Carlos wailed as he was quickly soaked. "Stuff like this doesn't happen in real life!"

"It could be worse," Trent grimaced. "The top is down on the 'vette."

Carlos laughed, then silence overtook them. They swung gently in the rainy breeze, lost in their own thoughts for a while. Suddenly, Carlos slapped his forehead. "What about your stars?" he asked.

Trent pulled out one of the sharp, pointed throwing stars he carried instead of a gun and studied it. "We'll, uh, kind of fall if I do this," he mentioned candidly.

Carlos grabbed hold of a branch through the large mesh container and bade him do the same. Trent looped one arm around the branch while he laboriously sawed a hole through the ropes forming the side of the trap. Despite the inconvenience it posed to his freedom, he noted the fine craftsmanship of the net. Before he had finished, and completely negating his effort, they felt the net—and themselves—being slowly lowered to the ground. A figure shrouded in a dark rain coat walked around the tree and greeted them. Trent and Carlos remained still, trying to gage whether this man was friend or foe, when a voice broke through the tense quiet.

"Carlos?" Danae asked. "Trent!" She limped over to the men and knelt down beside them. "Boy am I glad to see you guys!"

"You know these men?" The somber question came from the man in the slick black jacket.

"They're good men," even hidden in the darkness, Trent could recognize Kim's unique voice. "They're looking for us."

"Come with me," the man offered a weathered hand to help Trent up, while Danae did the same to Carlos.

"What happened to you?" he asked her during their brisk walk through the woods.

"I'm ok," she answered. "One of the brothers threw something at me. A wrench I think."

"So it's the brothers, then?" he mused.

"What took you so long?" she teased. "I take it you saw the marijuana field. Kim has talked about nothing but the great publicity you guys will get when you turn this in."

"She would," he replied good-naturedly, just loud enough for Kim to hear it. The red-head stuck her tongue out at him and continued her own talk with Trent about what the girls had discovered.

"It still doesn't make sense, though," Trent said when the five had reached a stopping point. The old Indian (his name was Joseph Blackstone, Danae told Carlos) had set up a crude shelter in a corner of the woods. No one was sure if he lived there all the time, and they were too polite and grateful for his help to ask him and risk offense. He was busy erecting another tent to shelter the two additional men, as his tent was too small to hold all five of them for the night. The rain was worsening, making travel by foot dangerous in the dark, and the bitterly cold wind made them all thankful for the shelter.

"Why not?" Carlos asked as he gnawed on a stick of jerky given to him by the white-haired man. "The brothers aren't getting paid enough by Peters, so they grow pot on the side."

"There's more to it than that," Trent replied from the other tent, set up across from the first. "I was down at the courthouse this afternoon, and I found out that the brothers' family, the Farles, used to own that land until the bank foreclosed on it and auctioned it off. Wouldn't you think they would resent Gwendy?"

"Could just be another reason to grow pot," Carlos said. "She's not long for this world, so maybe they can buy it back."

"Before this land belonged to anyone," Blackstone spat out the word, "it was home to my tribe. The Farles bought all this for one hundred dollars. Now that we want to buy it back, it costs a thousand times that much."

"He's right," Kim piped up. "The Farles brothers will get what they deserve in the morning. Maybe you can get your land back, Mr. Blackstone."

"What about Gwendy?" Danae asked softly. "This is her home, too."

"It strikes me as odd," Carlos mentioned casually, "how she thought you girls had left, when your truck was parked in her front yard."

Danae considered this unpleasant theory as Kim thought aloud: "There's no guarantee that you'll get this land if they take it from Gwendy, but we'll help you any way we can," she told Blackstone, brown eyes bright with sincerity. The old Indian managed a handsome smile before donning his raincoat again.

"I have work to do," he replied to questions about his destination. "There are blankets in my tent to keep you warm." With that, he disappeared into the grove of trees.

The four stayed up a little longer, discussing the case. Danae was the first to fall asleep, followed shortly by Kim. Rather than wake the ladies, Trent and Carlos remained as they were for the night: Carlos and Danae shared one tent while Trent and Kim shared the other. Shortly before dawn, Danae was awakened by the sounds of Carlos in the throes of a nightmare. She sat up and gently shook him.

"What?" He wasn't fully awake yet. He wiped his sweaty face and panted.

"How often do you have nightmares?" she asked in a low voice. Carlos rolled over onto his back and considered his answer. He never told anyone about the dreams that haunted his sleep recently, figuring it was better to just ignore them. They would pass with time. "Do you want to talk about it?" Danae was not easily fooled by silence or evasion.

He shook his head. "No." He closed his eyes, and Danae looked on as his breathing became slow and deep as he easily slipped back into dreamless sleep. She, meanwhile, stayed awake and watched the morning sky lighten and bloom with color. There was so much to think about and sort through in her life, and the fresh dawn helped her reflect. Any conclusions she had come to lost when Carlos rolled onto his side and laid his head in her lap. Tentatively, she ran a hand through his disheveled black hair, consumed by even more thoughts without answers.

By the time the sun had finished rising, the rest of the gang had gotten up. They stretched their stiff bodies in the chilly damp and made feeble conversation out of short, choppy sentences.

"I could really go for some coffee," Kim admitted, rubbing her eyes tiredly. The others grunted their agreement.

They milled around for a few minutes, wondering silently if they had been abandoned by their guide. Relief came when the weathered man picked his way silently through the trees. He carried several medium-sized branches, which he used to create a meager fire and set up a tripod. Pulling out a beaten cooking pot, he boiled some water and made tea for the four young people. It was weak, but it was enough to wake them up.

"We must hurry," Blackstone told them when they had finished. "The brothers will be up soon, and they will be looking for you," he looked at the girls. Despite his age, the old man moved quickly and deftly through the forest, and even Trent, the fittest of all of them, struggled to keep pace with him. Before long, they arrived to find the Durango parked along the side of the road, an orange sticker from the sheriff's office asking him to move it or have it towed. Kim slid into the back of the Durango, followed by Danae. She assumed grumpily that she would eventually get her truck back from the Farles brothers.

Trent and Carlos shook hands with Blackstone and thanked him for their help.

"So what now?" Danae asked her companions.

Carlos sighed, and Danae was immediately alarmed by the weariness she heard in it. "We'll fill out a police report for grand theft auto, possession of illegal substances, and assault."

"Against whom? The brothers or Mrs. Peters?"

"Only the brothers, unfortunately," he replied. "Although this is enough to open an investigation. I just know Gwendy had a hand in this, but I don't know why."

"Bucky told me the first time we met that she had always hated that farm," Danae offered.

"Combined with the credit problems she was having, maybe she just wanted to get rid of the land but couldn't afford to pay off the banks," Kim mused.

"So she conspires with the Farles to come up with the money," Carlos took over the narrative, "But the Farles just wanted their farm back, and they tried to get rid of her, so she retaliated and used us to expose them?"

"Sounds pretty thin," Trent said. "All I know is that they're both guilty of something, and we got caught in the middle."

"I'm so tired of being used," Carlos grumbled.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Carlos brushed her question aside. "It has something to do with another case I was working."

Everyone was quiet for the rest of the ride. They were grumpy from being hungry and tired. As soon as they had given their statements to the police, Kim, Trent, and Carlos went home for some well-deserved rest. Danae, unfortunately, had work. At least the police promised to return her truck to her immediately.


	11. Chapter 11

It was mid-afternoon before Trent got back to Margo's apartment. Sore, tired, and dirty, he pushed open the door and yelled to Margo. "I'm home!" It wasn't until he came out of the bathroom that he realized sickly that she never yelled back. "Margo?" He padded down the hallway, to the bedroom, and the queasy feeling exploded in his stomach.

The tiny room felt huge and empty without her clothes, her shoes, her pillows. All that was left of his darling Margo was a note on his pillow. Trent stared at it numbly as he unbuttoned his shirt and stripped off his pants. He couldn't bring himself to read it yet. He already knew what it said, and he didn't want it to be true. After a long, steaming shower, he went back to the kitchen and ate mechanically. His appetite had left with Margo's suitcases.

Carlos found him in his bedroom some time later, still staring at the note on his bed.

"What happened?" he asked.

Trent cleared his throat and waved a hand toward the paper. "Her things were gone when I got back," he said hoarsely. "I don't know where she went."

"You haven't read it yet?"

"I can't." Carlos picked it up and handed it to his long-time friend, who refused it. "I can't, Carlos. I just can't."

Dejectedly, Carlos opened it and read it aloud. "'Trent: I know you won't understand this, but I need to leave. Not just for me, but for you, and for my career. I was offered a job in Washington DC, and I took it. I think it's the best thing for both of us right now. Let Carlos be a good friend to you. I love you. Margo.' I'm sorry, mano," he said as he folded the paper up again and handed it to Trent. This time he took it, reading it carefully.

"What am I going to do?" he asked, bleary-eyed.

"You're going to go on doing the best you can," Carlos answered. He crossed his arms. "She's going through a rough time right now. Give her some time to heal, some time to think, and things will get better."

"Some time to heal from what?" Trent asked hysterically.

"From the Reformists," he answered quietly.

Trent stood up from his chair in a huff. "Why does she need to go away for that? I can help her get through it!"

"No you can't," Carlos replied softly. Margo's departure made perfect sense to him, but Trent argued the point. "You can't fix everything!" Carlos finally yelled, and Trent fell silent. The anger faded out of Carlos' voice. "It's not about you, it's about her. She needs to find herself again, and she has to do it alone. You can't help her this time."

Trent's earnest blue eyes became dangerously sad. "Well I'm glad you know more about my girlfriend than I do."

Carlos sighed and tried to explain. "We were talking about it the other day."

"You knew she was going to leave me?"

"I didn't know this was going to happen," Carlos retorted angrily. "But it might be for the best."

"Get out." Trent's voice was flat and eerily calm.

"I understand that you're upset…" Carlos started to say, but Trent shoved him.

"How could you possibly understand what I'm feeling?" It was Carlos' turn to look hurt. "Get out."

* * *

Sometime after midnight, there was a knock on Danae Launey's apartment door. A quick glance through the peephole found Carlos laden with a package. Both he and his bundle were wet from walking through the rain. 

"I couldn't sleep," he admitted sheepishly as he dripped on her welcome mat. She told him to stay put, and he watched her carefully as she went to get him towels. He was more nervous than he had ever been in his life. "Nightmares," he told her when she got back. Her surprised eyes locked with his for a brief moment. "Here," he held out the cardboard box for her, and she took it while he dried off. "It's a present from my mom. A housewarming gift."

Danae set it down on the table in the next room and opened it. "Oh, my God," she breathed as it mewed. Carlos grinned and sat down on the floor next to her as she pulled the tiny cat out of its makeshift carrier. The scrawny tabby purred as she held him up to the light. "Does it have a name?"

"Not yet," he said as she put it down on the floor. It blinked its eyes and jumped on the couch.

"Thank you." She suddenly leaned over and hugged Carlos tightly. He returned the embrace just as fiercely. His nightmares were the furthest thing from his mind when she asked him about them. He told her, haltingly at first, a bare skeleton of the dreams, about Johnny, and then his fears tumbled out of his mouth piecemeal. When he had run out of things to say, her arms were still around him, though he lay with his head in her lap now. He thought she had fallen asleep until she spoke at last.

"There are many theories about dreams and what they mean, but I don't think they mean anything. Johnny almost killed you, but you survived. You were stronger than him then, and you're stronger than him now. The nightmares can't hurt you."

"You make it sound so easy," he sighed as he shifted. He felt exposed and vulnerable now that echoes of his feeble fears wafted about the room.

"Look into your friends' eyes," she told him simply. "They'll tell you who you really are. Your mother adores you, Trent wouldn't be the same without you, Tommy idolizes you," she explained. She looked down her long nose at him, and his somber brown face slowly broke into an easy grin. "What?" she asked him. It was her turn to feel silly.

Carlos shook his head. "Nothing," he told her. "I just like how your eyes see me is all."

With an indignant mew, the fiery tabby jumped onto the man's belly and stared at him. Soul searching would have to be postponed until after Kitty had been fed.


End file.
